


memory and longing

by cupofkey



Series: hetalia asia week [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Family Feels, Food Metaphors, Gen, Historical References, Identity, One Shot, Sibling Bonding, Sisters, southeast asia thoughts...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27573202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupofkey/pseuds/cupofkey
Summary: Singapore takes Malaysia out for a plate of chicken rice. Sisterly bickering ensues.
Relationships: Malaysia & Singapore (Hetalia)
Series: hetalia asia week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015503
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28





	memory and longing

**Author's Note:**

> this is written for day one of [aph asia week](https://aphasiaweek.tumblr.com/) ! the prompts I used are food / “it tastes of memory and longing.”
> 
> so here are my ocs, I hope I did them some justice!! if you'd like to know more about some of the historical allusions mentioned here, the wikipedia page about [Singapore in Malaysia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Singapore_in_Malaysia) is a good start, but tbh this is pretty light on the history. mostly just sisters hanging out. also here is my [tumblr](https://cupofkey.tumblr.com) if you'd like to come ask me stuff about this (or just chat/see what I'm up to!) I post lots of headcanons/asks lol, along with extra notes and stuff. I love hearing from ppl so come hang out!
> 
> a couple definitions and extras in the endnotes. anyways, please enjoy :)

The place they’re going isn’t the usual spot— Singapore had discovered it a couple months ago, a dumpy-looking stall at one of the smaller hawker centers, looking like it was in the middle of closing down. A bored-looking teenage girl had taken her order, which was apparently the first one all day. Nevertheless, the chicken rice had been the best she’d had all month, and so Nasi Special became her new little secret.

_ For when I want to unwind, to sit in the corner and people-watch, as if I’m just another businesswoman too tired to cook dinner… _

Well, it’s not really a secret anymore. Malaysia’s in front of her and casting a critical eye over the warped menu plastered on the wall, her head slightly tilted, her fingers absently thumbing through her wallet.

“Are you, like, ready?” the teenage girl at the counter asks.

“One moment,” Malaysia mutters, still squinting very hard at a blurry stock image of nasi goreng.

Singapore sighs. “Two Hainan chicken rice, please.”

Malaysia spins around, mouth open to object, but at that point the girl has already vanished to the back.

“Now why would you do that?” she frets, glancing back down at her wallet. “I barely have enough to pay for two.”

“Well,  _ I’m  _ paying,” Singapore interjects, pushing her glasses up her nose, “and besides, we came here to get chicken rice, so what’s the point of ordering something else?”

“Who said you were paying?” Malaysia indignantly says.

Singapore rolls her eyes. “Me.”

“No, you’re not,” is the immediate response. “I still have enough to pay. Besides, you’re too young for that.”

“Malaysia, I’m an independent nation,” Singapore mutters.

“You’re barely of age.”

“I’m taller than you.”

“No,” Malaysia says, her voice serious enough to sentence someone to death, “no, you are not. I’ll have you know you’re still a few too many centimeters behind.”

She straightens up a little more—  _ well, she’s… still shorter, _ Singapore thinks, staring straight over the top of her sister’s baby-pink hijab. Regardless of that fact, this is still a futile argument, judging by the amount of times they’ve already had it. Malaysia presses her lips together smugly like she’s won some great battle anyway.

“Sure,” Singapore finally says.

“Good,” Malaysia replies, tucking her wallet back into her bag and handing Singapore the bills. “Here. For your dignity.”

Just as Singapore’s rolling her eyes again, the girl is back, this time with two takeout containers and a fistful of napkins.

“Utensils are over there,” she drawls, reaching out for the bills and immediately disappearing again. Malaysia’s already on it, so Singapore grabs the containers and makes a beeline for her usual table, pressed against the wall with a rickety plastic chair on either side.

“I haven’t had your nasi ayam in a while,” Malaysia remarks as she sits down, handing Singapore a spoon and fork. “So my expectations are high.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course it’s good,” Singapore snorts. “Why else would I invite you here?”

Malaysia shrugs, carefully opening up her food. “Sure, it’s good, but I  _ was _ the one who invented it, so who knows if it’ll—”

“Oh, please,” Singapore mutters, “the whole world knows Hainan chicken rice is mine.”

“Nasi ayam,” Malaysia says, stabbing a piece of chicken with a raised eyebrow, “is Malay. We made it first. And nasi ayam, that’s Bahasa Melayu, isn’t it?”

“That’s  _ one _ name for it. But fine, fine, it’s neither of ours, if you want to be pedantic,” Singapore says with a snort. “It’s China’s. Hainan. That’s him. Unless you want to contest that basic fact.”

Malaysia clicks her tongue. “Aiy, he just thought of how to cook the chicken. Who cares about him anyway? We all know the rice is the most important part.”

The rice— Singapore opens up her own takeout box to see it, tightly packed into a dome under thickly-sliced chicken. She’s immediately hit with the fragrant smells of chicken and ginger and pandan. There’s nothing like it, really. It’s the main reason she keeps coming back to Nasi Special, seasoned perfectly and deliciously savory, just oily enough to balance out the pungency of the chili-garlic sauce.

“Yes,” she murmurs, picking up her spoon to take some. “Yes, it most definitely is.”

“Well, it does look good,” Malaysia remarks.

Singapore doesn’t bother to respond, just cracking open the little plastic cup of dipping sauce and dribbling a few drops across her plate, exactly the way she likes it. Malaysia stabs a piece of chicken to dip into her own sauce before taking a bite.

“So?” Singapore says.

“Mm,” Malaysia says, chewing thoughtfully and taking a bite of rice.

Singapore takes a bite of her own, luxuriating in the silkiness of the chicken and the spicy punch of the sauce, the satisfaction of a perfectly-proportioned mouthful flooding her for a second.  _ It’s so good. As always. _

“It is,” Malaysia admits, “delicious.”

“Ha,” Singapore dryly says, before taking another bite of rice. “Even the chicken?”

“Even the chicken,” Malaysia says. “I forget, sometimes, how many very good things you managed to pick up from him.”

“Just his people,” Singapore replies.

Malaysia shrugs. “China, his people, same-same. And you two are close, I know that.”

Singapore swallows, but words don’t really come.  _ You  _ are _ Chinese, _ is the unsaid implication,  _ your people are, you are. _ Decades of those words ring back in her ears, a burst of violence and a shredding, ripping separation, all catching in her thoughts and her throat. Breathing is impossible for a moment. The short distance across the table suddenly feels gaping and awkward, as it does in too many moments, as it did all those years ago.

“I’m not just Chinese,” she finally says. Malaysia glances up at her, face carefully blank, and they stare across that distance like they always do.

Singapore takes a quick, shallow breath. “Aku orang melayu,” she says. “I’m Malay, too.”

Silence.

She continues. “I’m your sister, too, you know?”

_ And I miss you, a lot. I missed you back then. You’re a part of me, too, right? _

_ Right? _

Malaysia doesn’t even blink— and then she abruptly shatters the moment with as little as a sharp exhale, tossing the end of her scarf over her shoulder. Before Singapore can even blink, Malaysia’s back to clicking her tongue at her with a frown, wagging a scolding finger at her mostly-full plate.

“Makan lah, come on, you skinny girl,” she reprimands. “Quit all the chatter and eat already. Here, do you want more rice? Did they give yours less than mine?”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Singapore grumbles, taking an extra-large bite of chicken and chewing exaggeratedly. “There, happy?”

“Not at all,” Malaysia retorts, but there’s already a smile rising up on her face, and the gap between them melts away in warm, savory silence.

**Author's Note:**

> nasi - rice (nasi ayam - chicken rice; nasi goreng - fried rice; etc)  
> bahasa melayu - Malay (language)  
> aku orang melayu - I'm Malay/a Malaysian (informal, familiar)  
> makan lah - come on, eat
> 
> also, Hainan/Hainanese chicken rice is SO FIRE... if you ever get the chance to eat it definitely do so. food of my childhood man. it's delicious <3


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